


Touch

by Eridani, Kat2107



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Blood, But Not Much, Choking, Glimpse of Mitaka, Kissing, Kylo is an idiot, Kylo with a man bun, Looming matchmaker Phasma, M/M, and Hux is a tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 03:46:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6736882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eridani/pseuds/Eridani, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat2107/pseuds/Kat2107
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Kylo Ren touches General Hux, and one time General Hux touches back. It was all in the prompt!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucifer_Milton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifer_Milton/gifts).



> The original prompt was : _Five times Kylo Ren touches Hux (and one time Hux touches back) _. For reasons, it has been written by both of us.__
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> _Our deepest gratitude to our beta[ pkabyssinian ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pkabyssinian/pseuds/pkabyssinian)_  
> 

1

It’s a week after Supreme Leader Snoke’s apprentice arrived on the _Terminator_. 

The man goes by Kylo Ren and Colonel Hux is extremely weary of him. Force users brought the Empire to its doom and Hux has no wish to see the First Order follow the same path. Ren’s face is always covered by metal, his voice distorted by a vocoder, and Hux likes this even less. He cannot help but wonder what the man is hiding. But the Supreme Leader assigned them to the same ship and Hux wants to double his stripes way too much to voice his discomfort. 

The bi-monthly strategy meeting has been going on for a while. No-one is opposing him, but as usual, there are a few nitpickers who balk at the proposition to ally with the Outer Rim worlds as opposed to open conquest. 

These officers are unable to see beyond the lack of defenses, to recognize the disarray and the desperate need these planets have for order. 

So here is Hux, standing in front of the display, repeating for the fifth time the same point when the old _Interdictor_ -class Star Destroyer jolts to a stop and outside the observation window the streaks of hyperspace distort back into stars. The whole room moves forward with the momentum of the ship and Hux loses his balance. He stretches his arm to catch himself on the table when he collides with Ren. 

Hux ends up plastered to the large chest of the man, his elbow caught in a vice-like grip. He can feel the heat, seeping through the leather of Ren’s glove and through the sleeve of his uniform. He can feel Ren’s breath through the mask on his forehead, almost a touch but not quite. All those sensations assault him like a hurricane during the infinitesimal time he takes to push himself away. 

When Hux is finally done straightening his uniform, Ren is nowhere to be seen.

 

****

2

Hux’s plan is working well. Several systems in the Outer Rim either surrendered without a fight or contacted the First Order to negotiate an alliance, bringing important supplies and resources to its bosom. 

They are  just concluding negotiations with a world struggling to care for the many orphans left behind by a crippling civil war. Their central government more than happy to transfer them to the First Order’s stormtroopers program. 

His contacts in High Command  have informed Hux that he will be recommended for the promotion to General he worked so hard for. 

Overall, it’s a very successful operation for the First Order and for Hux.

On top of that, the dignitaries are organizing a celebration to honor the integration of their world into the First Order and the watchword of this gathering is no weapons and no masked faces. Hux is very happy that this excludes _de facto_ the giant menace he seems to have acquired as a shadow. 

So here is Hux, soon to be General, in his red-embroidered dress uniform jacket, enjoying his evening and a drink. 

Phasma refused to let him go without a stormtrooper at his side, arguing that it would be unbecoming of his position. 

From the moment he stepped on the shuttle, the man Phasma stuck with him started to irritate Hux. 

He’s taller than Hux, for a first, even if he seems to want to shrink on himself. Then, he is strangely attractive, with uneven features that keep dragging Hux’s eyes to his pale face. 

And he sports a totally out-of-regulation bun of black hair knotted to his nape. Hux will need to seriously discuss this impropriety with Phasma.

Hux tries to dissipate his irritation through small talk with the foreign dignitaries, quite inefficiently because administrators seem to belong to the tedious and boring faction in all parts of the Galaxy. He picks up yet another glass of the pleasantly sweet beverage the hosts provided when the stormtrooper interrupts him.

“Be careful, it’s your fifth”

Hux slowly turns to pin the man with his best unyielding glare.

“Sir.” The trooper adds, like on a second thought. 

Hux’s brain is focussing in suspicion, when a commotion breaks out behind him. The trooper seizes him by the waist and hauls them both behind the buffet table for cover. 

The blasters shots whizzing above their heads fail at quenching Hux’s indignation at being thus manhandled. He ends up on his belly, the body of the larger man hovering above him, crowding him. The indignity of his position makes him try to squirm away but the arm across his waist only tightens. 

“Stop seething like a wet cat and stay down! They are trying to kill you and I am the only weapon at your disposal!” Even without the distortion of the vocoder, Hux recognizes the deep baritone intonations.

“Ren, bloody hells, I’m going to…” 

“Later, I need a minimum of focus to get rid of them.” 

During the time it takes Ren to disable their assailants, Hux still feels the heat of Ren's arm imprinted in the cloth of his uniform. It is not worry that glues his eyes onto the fighting man.  
  


****

3

Although the _Finalizer_ operates not on daytime cycles _per se_ , the ship falls into a silent half-state for the few hours when shift one and two are asleep. The constant stream of information that normally barrages Hux slows to a trickle, providing precious breathing room he should use to rest and recuperate. Sleep. Instead, he finds himself headed to the training facilities every second night like a common trooper, for months now. Phasma’s orders. She decided that both the events at the party and his promotion made it necessary to brush up on his fighting skills. He hadn’t agreed, not until she threatened to hand the responsibility for his security off to Kylo Ren. 

So here is Hux, a General with a still new ship and a special project that eats up any time he has to spare and before him the wide, silent expanse of the training halls. 

He expects Phasma, beating up a sand sack, what he finds instead is Kylo Ren working with slow precision through sword forms. Soft training pants sit low on narrow hips, a sleeveless shirt hangs carelessly on shoulders that are much broader than his stupid robe makes them look. 

“Ren,” Hux nods and attempts to walk past his own personal menace when a hand on his arms stops him.

“Phasma is unavailable. Disciplinary problem with the Stormtroopers. She asked me to take over.” He smiles.

If there is a spectrum of emotions a show of teeth can express, then “friendly” huddles in a dark corner in an attempt to get as far away from this monstrosity as possible. 

Hux knows he should just turn and walk away. It’s the only sensible way to deal with this situation, to escape with his pride and body intact. 

Hux’s lips stretch. “Let us begin then, Lord Ren.”

 

Hux is not ruled by a weak man’s notions of embarrassment and shame. He knows, has seen with his own eyes, what Ren is capable of, lightsaber or no lightsaber. Still it grates when Ren goes easy on him, slows his movements and curbs his immense reach to accommodate the General. 

Hux should be grateful for every little bit of restraint Ren possesses, impossible as it is. He should not take the bait and the months of training and put the Master of the Knights of Ren on the mat with a swift kick, a lift, and a punch that his instructors at the academy would have penalized him for. Not when Ren was so clearly holding back. 

The moment Ren impacts the mat his whole demeanor changes. Where before he was calm, almost professional, he growls with a grin. Hux, caught up in this one small triumph, reacts too late when a big hand curls over his ankle and yanks once. 

Above him, the girders move in slow motion as he falls and all he can do is push out all the air from his lungs before his back hits the mat. It still hurts. 

Hux’s elbow connects with something when he slams it to the left. Treat every situation like a serious situation, is Phasma’s mantra and there was never a situation more serious than being alone with a pissed off Ren. The low crunch of the bony part of his arm buys him another useless split second. 

Ren thrives on pain. It spurs him on. Hux struggles, but here, on even ground, Ren has both the size and strength advantage and Hux finds himself splayed on his belly, pressed into the ground by the heavily muscled body, held by gridlock arms and too late he remembers that Ren is not ruled by Phasma’s code of honor.

“Very good,” Ren pants in Hux’s ear, unmoved by the drops of blood collecting next to Hux’s head on the mat. 

He is warm, sweaty, an enticingly musky scent Hux avoids breathing deeply only by sheer willpower. Ren’s weight is an unmovable object, his breath a siren’s call, every shift of his muscles against Hux torture. Humiliating, Hux lies to Ren’s soft laughter. 

“You might want to tap out now, General.” 

Hux shifts against him, a weak attempt to dislodge the larger man that he never expected to work. So it takes him by surprise when Ren moves, pushes away with a barely restrained animal sound. He storms out of the gym, leaving in his wake a weird hole where his personality had just resided and Hux. Confused, still staring at the small puddle of Ren’s blood.

Isn’t that typical?  
  


****

4

“I won’t stand that tone of voice, Ren.” They march side by side, as they are wont to do and as usual, the corridor in front of them is curiously empty. 

 

“One should think you’d be less fazed by a bit of criticism,” Kylo Ren says, amusement dripping from behind his thrice-damned mask. 

Hux stops dead. 

“If you were able to think for only one minute past your childish urges, Ren, you’d understand that you undermined my authority in front of a foreign dignitary and I am no longer able to determine whether you do this to antagonize me or if you simply lack the mental capacity to grasp the concept of professionalism!”

Whatever more he wanted to say is cut off by the grip of Ren’s hand around his throat, the air pushed out of his lungs by the impact with the wall. Ren’s mask clangs to the floor.

“Careful, General,” Kylo Ren croons and leans in until he fills everything, looms over Hux’s perception like the specter of a death omen. 

So here is Hux, gasping desperately against the cold leather of Ren’s gloves as they caress in minuscule motions over the skin of his neck, controlling the airflow of every breath. 

Hux should end it. He could end it. That is what Phasma had pushed him into regular training sessions for. 

“This “dignitary” was not here for negotiations.” Ren’s voice drops barely above a whisper. Hux would never get used to the depth of those eyes, the uninhibited emotion Ren hid behind his mask. “He wanted to humiliate you.” 

With a slow exhale, Ren bends his head, brushes the tip of his nose over Hux’s cheekbone to inhale with a long, slow breath. His lashes flutter to a close as his expression softens a fraction, a thunderclap in the white noise overtaking Hux’s hearing. “I could not let that happen.”

The segue is broken by the sound of boots on polished steel. With a start, Ren’s consciousness seems to pull itself together, back into sharp focus and he pushes away from Hux, the wall, the intimacy. 

“I will take care of it,” he snarls and is gone in a swirl of black robes and menace. 

Swallowing hurts. Hux does it anyways as he watches the Knight vanish around the next corner. 

_ ‘Oh…,’ _ his mind supplies unhelpfully. 

 

****

5

The number of systems willing to join the First Order’s jurisdiction never stops increasing. To Hux’s deep satisfaction, most are driven by the stability it brings rather than pushed by the fear of retaliation. Unfortunately, the New Republic and the “Resistance” do not like it and have no wish to share power over the Galaxy.

All the troubles Hux encounters are due to them, and it irritates him to no end that they are too narrow-minded to see the progress brought to Outer Rim systems by the First Order. The more the New Republic and the Resistance oppose him, the closer they are to annihilation, as Starkiller grows. 

But for now, Hux is finalizing an alliance with a system that will give them complete autonomy for the ore and fuel needed for the First Order ships. 

Hux is in one of the comm rooms with Mitaka taking care of the encrypted communications. And Ren is hovering nearby, probably in case their new ally tries to strangle Hux via the holo. 

Once the holo conference is over, Mitaka beckons a droid, carrying a small silver tray with two glasses and a carafe containing an amber beverage. 

“Congratulation, Sir, on this new alliance. As usual, your skills in securing a useful system without violence will be an example for us all to follow.” Hux knows his Lieutenant too well and for too long to miss the not so hidden barb aimed at Ren. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant, your help was appreciated as always. You are dismissed.” Hux answers with a closed-mouthed smile at the young man.

So here is Hux, basking in the afterglow of his success, pouring two glasses of Cognac while he watches Ren remove his helmet. To be honest, Hux is fed up of waiting, but there is no way in hell he will take the first step towards Ren, that would give him way too much power. But there are still weapons in his arsenal.

He crosses his long legs, his leather clad ankle resting on his knee in a way he knows to pull the fabric of his trousers tight over his crotch. His right hand rests lazily on the armrest of his chair, the glass with the golden liquid dangling from his fingers. The alcohol burns his mouth when he slowly lets it roll over his tongue, looking up at Ren through his lashes. 

Ren is immobile as a statue, glass forgotten in hand, gaze glassy and rooted on Hux’s face.

_ Good _ .

As a  _ grand finale _ , Hux swallows conspicuously and licks his lips.

In two strides, and with the clash of breaking crystal, Ren is upon him. 

One gloved hand catches on Hux’s red hair, pulling to tilt his mouth upwards. The other settles on the side of his face, a bruising grip. 

Where the gloves are cold against his skin, the lips are hot like a brand. A frantic slide of mouth against mouth, with the urgency of a long time coming. A sharp bite of teeth, the soothing slide of tongue. 

And a swirl of black robes, leaving behind the lingering echoes of defeat intermingling with triumph.

Hux is not even surprised anymore.

 

****

+1

Around them, the planet crumbles and Hux holds Ren tighter when the stormtrooper on his other side stumbles. Ten meters to the idling shuttle and already Hux carries more than half of Ren's weight. Five meters and the man's pained moans become the only sound Hux is hearing. They step on the landing ramp and Hux yells at the pilot to take off before they're all the way up. He is still not sure if the pilot was faster or if the ground simply gave away, but they're in the air.

Ren chokes out a groan and crumbles, like the planet around them and Hux is caught in the turbulences of his fall, catching him before he hits the ground.

 

His skin is still cold, even, or especially around the disfiguring cut that bisects Ren's face. Under Hux's fingers his lips part on a soft sigh that might be a name. Long lashes flutter to reveal eyes in the color of old cognac. Hux could pull his hand away, distance himself. Instead, he leans closer. 

"Back with us, Lord Ren?"

Kylo Ren's gaze sweeps over Hux’s face, pain replaced by relief. He never gets to raise a hand to touch Hux, the arm caught before it can lift off the bed. 

"Lie still you idiot. We made it out of the atmosphere and I'd appreciate it if you ceased your attempts to get yourself killed."

So here is Hux, in a wobbly shuttle fighting it's way through atmospheric turbulences, sitting on the sickbed of a man cut to more pieces than should be livable. He is ready to throw his pride out the exhaust port. His pride explodes behind them in the cold of space, but this, this he managed to salvage. 

"At least you can't run this time," Hux murmurs and kisses Kylo Ren.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> We hope you enjoyed our story, and and are very much looking forward to read your opinion!
> 
> You can find us on tumblr: [ eridaniepislon ](http://eridaniepsilon.tumblr.com/) and [ kat2107 ](http://kat2107.tumblr.com/)


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